


a certain level of comfort

by often_adamanta



Series: 12 in 12 Challenge [1]
Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Christmas, Crossdressing, Domestic, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Insecurity, Jewish Character, M/M, Mark Watney in Pop Culture, Multi, Nightmares, Not Beta Read, Polyamory Negotiations, Recovery, Threesome - F/M/M, self-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:32:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5869714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/often_adamanta/pseuds/often_adamanta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark doesn't wear those clothes all the time, just when he's anxious or had a nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a certain level of comfort

**Author's Note:**

> [Look, dyslexic_as_hex made a podfic! How cool is that?!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12814584)

Mark doesn’t know it at the time, but it starts when Mindy Park gives him a #bringhimhome shirt when she visits in the hospital. 

He’s still in the rehab hospital because Earth gravity was not his friend, and he’s slowly meeting all the people who spent the last couple of years feverishly working to save his ass.

The shirt is bright pink, and it has an artistic rendering of the first picture of himself he sent back to Earth, like a shadow or paper cutout of his outline, clearly recognizable with the thumbs up and the suit helmet, and the hashtag in white across it. 

He laughs, delighted, and puts it on over the simple pajamas the patients wear here - such an upgrade on hospital gowns, Jesus - and keeps it on for fifteen minutes until Mindy leaves again and the nurse makes him take it off so she can check his blood pressure and heart rate for the millionth time. 

He doesn’t even think about it again until he’s released and unpacking the tiny bag of clothes he’d carried out of the hospital. It’s possibly the most alone he’s felt since rocketing off the face of Mars in a convertible, which is stupid. He’s staying with Chris and Beth while he finishes his outpatient physical therapy because they’re renting an apartment two miles from the hospital, and even though they’re not home right now, he can hear traffic and the occasionally yell through the window. He could go outside and see people any time he wants. 

Mark has been more alone than any other person in human history, and this ain’t it. 

Knowing that doesn’t really help the feeling. 

The shirt is so bright that it can’t help but catch his eye. He’s lived in uniforms of navy and sterile white for years now, happy to do it, but this is so different that it reminds him he’s home simply by looking. It’s thinner and softer than he’d expected of a t-shirt, no doubt because it’s made for girls, and when he pulls it on, it hangs just right on him, like Mindy had made the effort to find out his smaller, post-Mars size. 

He smiles, rubbing his fingers over the soft fabric where it covers his forearms, down to the too short cuffs, wrists exposed. He’ll have to send her a thank you card. 

~~~

Mark doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t wear the shirt in front of other people. He’s living with Chris and Beth at the moment, and he’s not sure they even know it exists. That’s impressive because he kind of wears it a lot, mostly when he’s feeling anxious. He gets nightmares, and he builds a routine: wipe the sweat away with a cool rag, drink a glass of water, steal some of Beth’s good dark chocolate which he’s pretty sure she’s stocking more for him these days, and then curl up in bed in his shirt. It’s a good system. He can usually fall asleep again afterwards. 

The amount of doctors appointments he has goes way down, and he starts to worry about wearing out his welcome since he’s already commandeered the guest room here way longer than anticipated. 

He could talk to them about this, but he’s afraid that they’ll agree with him that it’s time to go, and he doesn’t want that. He likes going running in the early mornings with Chris and teasing Beth about whatever ridiculously nerdy thing she’s watching but still joining her on the couch, her head a warm weight against his shoulder. He’s not ready to be on his own again. 

He’s also afraid, though, that they’re too nice and won’t tell him to leave even if they want him to, so he helps out around the apartment more. It’s dumb because if they want him gone, then starting an herb garden for Chris to cook with and helping out with the laundry isn’t going to change that, but he can’t stop himself. It’s nice to feel useful, too, and it’s all twisted up inside him, and he should probably mention this to his therapist at some point, but right now they’re focusing on his aversion to crowds. He wants to go see a Cubs game at some point, so. 

This fucked up mess of reasoning is how he ends up with one of Beth’s tops, balled up and hidden inside some flannel sleep pants, an honest laundry mix up. 

It’s a tank, light purple with a tiny lace detail all around the edge of the v-neck. It feels silky and stretchy, and it hangs loose on Beth the handful of times Mark has seen her wear it, usually right before laundry day. He doesn’t think it’s her favorite. 

He hesitates for a long time, just rubbing the fabric between his fingers, compulsively checking that his door is shut, before pulling it on. 

If it were any tighter on Beth or any less stretchy, it wouldn’t fit him. It pulls across his chest and it’s a good thing it doesn’t have shoulders. He probably looks ridiculous. 

He feels amazing. 

It’s like being wrapped up in a hug, grounding him in his body. For the first time in awhile, how much his body has changed isn’t the first thing that catches his brain when he looks down. Instead, his eyes get stuck on the lace detail, small but obvious against his skin, and the pale purple color against his slowly deepening tan.

He takes it off again when he hears the front door open and their voices filter in. He should give the top back to Beth, or throw it in the laundry and make sure it’s sorted properly next time. 

He puts it in the middle drawer of his borrowed dresser beneath his bright pink shirt. 

~~~

Mark hadn’t known what he was going to do with Beth’s shirt when he takes it, but the answer is, wear it every chance he gets. He’s actually stretched it out some, so it doesn’t hug him quite the same way, and he definitely can’t give it back to Beth now. 

He goes shopping. It’s early on a weekday, so it’s not as difficult as he could have made it on himself, but he doesn’t want to get mobbed, either. 

He finds a shirt that says _it has been seven days since I ran out of ketchup_ in bold red letters, an empty and squashed cartoon ketchup packet next to the words with x’s for eyes, and laughs so hard that he almost starts crying in the middle of the men’s wear section. 

He buys it, of course, and some really silly, fuzzy socks. One pair has tiny dancing llamas, white and black on a bright blue background. Another pair are purple with pugs, tongues out with sunglasses on. He finds some for Chris and Beth, too, tiny rockets for Chris and spiky black cats clutching coffee mugs for Beth. 

The last thing he gets is on a clearance rack as he’s leaving, a pair of dark purple and black plaid sleep pants. He goes back and forth, but they’re in his size, and they’re completely innocuous. The cashier hardly even looks at them as she rings them up, staring at him instead but clearly trying to be chill about it. 

Chris doesn’t think the shirt is as funny as Mark does, but Beth loves the socks. She makes all of them wear a pair and takes a picture of their feet lined up, posting it to their private Ares 3 instagram group. Martinez’s wife likes it within thirty seconds. 

That night when Mark goes to bed, he puts on Beth’s purple shirt and the matching purple pajama pants. It’s an outfit now, and he likes how pretty the colors look together. It also feels bigger, emotions tight in his chest, because this wasn’t a gift or an accident, but something he bought for himself. 

He falls asleep dragging his fingers back and forth along the lace that rests below his collarbones.

After that, he can’t help but buy more, although he switches to online shopping, secure in the knowledge that Beth’s wireless network is frankly unhackable. The middle drawer slowly fills up. He likes bright colors and soft textures. His shoulders look strong again in camisoles with thin lace straps, and he finds some velvety leggings that get worn a lot. 

~~~

His first Christmas back on Earth is pretty huge. He spent three weeks at his Mom’s over Thanksgiving and Hanukkah, but the week leading up to Christmas is all NASA PR all the time. He’s invited to the White House to help Santa hand out gifts to underprivileged kids for crying out loud. 

NASA has a huge party on Christmas Eve for anyone even remotely involved in getting him home. All the higher ups pool together to get a free bar for everyone, and Mark chips in quite a lot for that because he’s got the money and he knows exactly how much he owes each and every one of these people a beer. 

Mindy is there in an elf costume with a sign pinned to her chest that says ‘winter solstice elf’ handing out gifts. She gives him a soft package and says everyone chipped in, but she folds her hands nervously. He tears into it and finds a gorgeous silk print of the satellite photo of him on Mars, the one Mindy had looked at and discovered he was alive. He’s seen her wear pink planetary nebulae on blouses and drape orange star forming regions gently around her neck, so after holding it up and admiring it, he loops it over his shoulders, striking a pose to make her laugh. 

It makes him glad that he’d thought to get her something, a grey shirt with glittery letters that say _space paparazzi_. She laughs and pulls it on over her costume, and they take a selfie together, Mindy’s elf hat askew on her head. 

Mark finds it later that night in his phone, and it’s the first time he’s seen a picture of himself back on Earth where he looks familiar, not sickly thin or heavily made up for television or tired with bags under his eyes. His glasses are new, but he recognizes the dumbass smiling up at him, and it’s good. 

It makes the nightmare that night feel worse than it probably is, crashing down from such a high. He sighs and runs a wet cloth over his face, wondering where that happy guy went. He doesn’t let himself brood, though. He puts on that first pink shirt that Mindy got him in honor of her, and adds his newest favorite item of clothing: a pair of short shorts in purple with his last name across the ass in big white letters. His little cousin had gotten them for him, probably intended by her parents as a gag gift, but he loves them. He puts them on over leggings because a cold front had swept through two days ago, and they keep the apartment cool at night. 

He doesn’t even think before going into the kitchen to get his water and steal Beth’s chocolate. He’s done this so many times. He’s only halfway to the fridge when Chris says, behind him, “What are you wearing?” 

His voice starts normal enough, but Mark can hear it change from _your name is on your ass_ to _you’re wearing women’s clothing_ as Chris speaks. 

Mark startles a little and turns around, amused and panicked in equal measure. He can’t help blushing, and Chris looks like he wants to swallow his own tongue, a half filled stocking in one hand where he’s standing next to their tiny Christmas tree.

Mark dramatically covers his heart and stage whispers, “You mean Santa isn’t real?” 

Chris laughs a little too loud and apologizes. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“Sure,” Mark says, forcing himself to turn back around and get his glass of water as casually as possible. “Goodnight, Santa,” he says as he heads back to his room, abandoning the chocolate altogether and managing a pretty cool exit, if he does say so himself. 

As soon as his door shuts behind him, though, the panic starts to outweigh the amusement. He wants to take the clothes all off again, except he really doesn’t, and that won’t keep Chris from having seen, even if he’s obviously not going to be shitty about it. 

His hands are shaking, and he knows that is just an overactive fight or flight response, a lingering effect of his trauma, but he can’t always control it. He paces around the room, his pug socks an almost silent rasp against the carpet. 

There’s a quiet knock on the door, and Mark swallows. “Yeah?”

“Hey,” Beth says, voice muffled by the wood, “Can I come in?” 

Mark sinks down to sit at the end of the bed. “Yeah, come in,” he manages, voice even, but can’t stop himself from crossing his arms across his chest. 

Beth opens the door and joins him on the bed, one leg folded up beneath her, careful not to get so close they touch. Her hair is rumpled, sticking up a little on one side. 

“Sorry,” he says, “Did Chris wake you?” 

“Not intentionally,” she says, “But he’s loud when he thinks too hard, and he’s pretty worried that he upset you.” 

“It’s fine,” Mark says automatically. 

“Okay,” Beth says easily. She’s being so gentle with him, and he’s torn between being grateful and angry. “Do you want some chocolate?” she asks.

“Yes,” Mark says, honesty surprised out of him by the unexpected question. 

She grins and gets up. “Come along,” she says over her shoulder. 

Mark follows after a second, waiting in the doorway of the kitchen while Beth gets one of her good chocolate bars down, and then she leads him over to the couch. They sit down next to each other, closer than before but still not touching, and eat chocolate while watching the lights twinkle on their very tiny tree. 

They’re quiet for so long that it stops being awkward and falls into companionable, and he starts to think that they’re not going to have to talk about this at all, but then Beth turns and looks him over. 

“You know we would never judge you, right?” she asks, tone mild. 

“I know,” he answers, feeling the truth of it as he speaks. 

“Okay,” she says, “It just feels like maybe you were trying to keep this from us. If it’s private, that’s fine, but I don’t want you to be afraid here. This is your home.” 

“Is it?” Mark asks, which isn’t even the point she’s trying to make, but he can’t help it. 

Beth hums and sets the chocolate aside, picking up one of his hands and holding it between her own. “We had planned to talk to you on New Year’s Day - it seemed thematically appropriate - but yes, Mark. We’d like you to stay. Move in for real, stop calling your room the guest room, that kind of thing.” 

“Stay,” Mark repeats. “As your roommate?”

“As our friend,” Beth says, “And our teammate. We’d also considered boyfriend and lover, but that’s up to you. We don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Mark picks at a nonexistent speck on his leggings for a second with his free hand, not looking at Beth’s calm face. “I think this is the longest serious conversation we’ve had outside of a NASA mission,” Mark says, “It’s kinda freaking me out.” 

“Well, there’s no NASA here,” Beth says, “But I’m definitely on a mission.” Mark glances over at her, and she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. He laughs, and it breaks up the tension in his chest. “If this is freaking you out, I should warn you about Chris,” Beth says thoughtfully, “He’s been reading books on polyamory and using phrases like ‘explicit consent’ and ‘emotional honesty’.” 

“Fuck,” Mark says, because she’s serious, they’re serious. Chris has been studying how to make this real between all of them. “What about you?” 

“I’ve been watching a lot of threesome porn,” Beth says breezily, and Mark laughs again until he wheezes. 

“So you want me, then?” he asks, trying for teasing but falling more into sappy territory. 

“Yeah,” she says, grinning and squeezing his hand. “I mean, you’re very attractive, Mark, surely you know that.” 

“Even like this?” he asks and sounds a bit too insecure even to his own ears. 

“Especially like this,” she says, “Chris had the most conflicted boner earlier, I swear.” 

Mark laughs again, but he has to clarify, “It’s not really a sex thing.” 

“Neither is your flight suit, but you look hot in that, too,” Beth says. 

“Not as hot as you, Christ,” Mark says, waving his hand as if to fan his face, and Beth giggles, releasing him so she can give him a shove. 

Their noise brings Chris from down the hall, and he stands just inside the room watching until they calm down. “Everything okay?” he asks again. 

“Yeah,” Mark says and holds out a hand, pulling Chris down on the couch next to him when he’s close enough. 

“Sorry about earlier,” Chris says, still a little chagrined, “You look cute in that. I like it.” 

“Just cute?” Mark asks, looking up at Chris through his eyelashes, and Chris turns bright red as Beth starts giggling again. 

“I don’t want to presume,” Chris murmurs.

“We’ll have to negotiate some boundaries later,” Mark agrees. Chris nods earnestly, and Mark manages not to laugh right up until he sees Beth trying not to smile out of the corner of his eye. He sets her off again, and Chris just smiles at them both, clearly too relieved to be upset that they’re laughing at him. 

“We should open our stockings,” Beth says eventually.

“It’s 3:30 in the morning,” Chris points out. 

“It’s Christmas morning,” Beth exclaims, undeterred, “And we’re awake.”

“I interrupted Santa earlier,” Mark says, “So I don’t think he finished filling them.” 

“We’ll take turns,” Beth says and disappears down the hall to get her gifts. 

Mark gets up and follows, glancing back at the last second to see Chris staring at his ass. He winks and turns the corner. 

The stockings are full of small fun things when they open them, like noisemakers and candies. Mark and Beth try to top each other with crazy Christmas socks, and Chris gives both of them large bars of chocolate. Beth had put together a 70s dance playlist on a little glittery jump drive for him which makes Mark groan when he reads the tag. Chris gets a little pair of white, stuffed mice because Mark and Beth think he misses the ones from the Hermes. 

Heavy in the toe of the Mark’s stocking are two bottles of high end nail polish, a dark purple and a glittery grey. It had to be re-purposed from another gift, probably for Chris’ sister, but it makes Mark’s throat tight at the tangible proof of their acceptance. 

“I can paint your toenails if you want,” Chris offers. 

“He’s really good at it,” Beth says. 

“Steady phalanges,” Chris explains, wiggling his fingers. 

Mark smiles. Without letting himself think about it too hard, he leans over and gives Chris a kiss. 

“Yay!” Beth cheers quietly, and Mark has to pull away because he’s smiling too hard to properly kiss. 

Chris beams at him, and Beth scoots forward and takes a kiss for herself, simple and quick.

“Yay!” Mark says. They all put on their new Christmas socks, and Beth takes another photo and posts it to instagram. Mark leaves his leggings on in the picture, although you can’t really see them. A few minutes later, Martinez’s wife and Vogel both like the picture. Martinez himself leaves a comment that says, _i don’t want to know._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [a certain level of comfort (podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12814584) by [dyslexic_as_hex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyslexic_as_hex/pseuds/dyslexic_as_hex)




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